“That is . . . fascinating,” she nodded. “Yes, I would say that if you have the opportunity to negotiate a peace, that you should do so. If you think you can trust him,” she added.
“Pentandra, he’s in exile with a remnant of Sheruel’s forces, with no allies and plenty of enemies. I think I can convince him to free his human slaves. But from what Koucey said, he’s got a little statelet up in the northern Wilderlands that mimics our humani forms of government. Including a number of human renegades who seem committed to the success of the Goblin King. As well as the support of the majority of the old tribes. So . . . there might be an opportunity.”
“Take it,” she commanded. “I’ll speak to Anguin about it, but it would be welcome news in Falas if some of our enemies were dealt with. Even the little ones. Who knows, perhaps it will be a step toward a deeper understanding,” she said, with a shrug.
“You don’t think that the people would consider that a betrayal, after all that has happened?” I asked.
“One less reason to go to war? I think they could stomach that,” she chuckled, mirthlessly. “We’ve had rebellion in Alshar, war in Farise, invasion in the Wilderlands and Gilmora. Certainly, there are those who were hurt who would take issue with any peace; I imagine that’s true on both sides. But people are hungry for tales of victory,” she decided. “A just peace with the tribal gurvani would be just that. And I can get Anguin to support it. Thankfully, there is precedent: the treaty that Prince Tavard signed with Koucey after his defeat in Gilmora. The Crown has already entered into a treaty with the Goblin King. Another with the Magelaw will not be novel.”
I realized for a moment just how much I had missed Pentandra: her wisdom, her counsel, her cattiness. But mostly her competence. Sure, I could call her up in my head any time to ask her inane questions or whine bitterly about my fate. But she was a busy woman, in charge of many portfolios, and I hesitated to contact her unless the circumstances warranted it.
I missed the days when we would banter about the Arcane Orders, or the future of magic in the kingdom, or the intricacies of power politics at the ducal level, or why a sustained erotic encounter produced a stronger vital arcane energy over a quickie in the buttery. But that made me cherish her advice even more, I realized.
“Thank you,” I sighed. “I’ve been concerned about that. But I think it is in our best interest, if we can convince at least some of the goblins to stand down. With Sheruel pursuing his long-time goal of being a flashy accessory, most of their desire to kill every human in the world has abated.”
“Don’t worry,” she sighed. “There are plenty of others who want to kill every human in the world. Sheruel seems almost cuddly, by comparison,” she said, cryptically.
***
My dearest liege, Prince Tavard of House Bimini, Duke of Castal, Conqueror of Maidenpool, I bring you most heartfelt greetings.
My Prince, I cannot thank you enough for the assistance you thoughtfully provided this spring when you paid to hire seven thousand Gilmorans to ride to my assistance during my struggles against the Nemovorti. Unasked and unlooked for, Count Anvaram led his host to our aid during a crucial time, and his appearance and intervention spared my realm. I cannot thank you enough for your unyielding support as I establish the Magelaw as a strong bulwark against the darkness of the Umbra that threatens us all.
I must commend Count Anvaram: he led his men with distinction and committed hundreds of your vassals to a valiant charge against far-superior forces. Truly, the valor of the Gilmoran chivalry is worthy of study. Alas, no less than eighteen hundred valiant Gilmorans perished in the fight, Duin’s grace upon them. They died bravely, and quickly. I must recommend that the duchy consider some compensation for their families for such noble service.
Likely this dispatch will reach you before Count Anvaram, himself, returns victorious to Nion and has time to write a lengthy report to you of his exploits in the Wilderlands. But I feel compelled to give voice to his remarkable performance in the Magelaw.
His keen intellect and strategic prowess know no peer, and he is deserving of every laud you wish to heap upon him. Indeed, so noble was the count that he insisted upon donating a solid gold statue of a cur that he admitted was a gift of respect and honor to him from your noble self to the succor of those wounded or injured in the egregious invasions the Magelaw has had to endure, so moved was he by the plight of his former countrymen who now count themselves subjects of the Magelaw.
Likewise, His Excellency was replete in his praise for his duke; he insisted his adventure was entirely your idea and admitted that the funds to prosecute such a daring expedition came from your very purse. While I appreciate such largess, my lord, it comes as an even greater value when I know the duchy is reeling from the expense of the Maidenpool Adventure and its attendant consequences. Constructing a fleet is an expensive endeavor, I hear, and your willingness to dedicate valuable ducal resources to the defense of my realm during such a time of thrift and preparation speaks well of your character and your noble bearing. I cannot help but thank the gods for granting me such a benevolent liege.
I am asked to pass along the well-wishes of your cousin Anguin and dear sister Rardine, who are planning to occupy the Summer Palace at Vorone now that the hated rebellion in Alshar has been thoroughly defeated. My lord Anguin thrives in his new marriage, and by all accounts it is a lusty union. No doubt there will be many heirs to issue therefrom, in the coming years, you will be gratified to know. Your darling daughter should have many, many cousins with whom to play in the coming years.
As my enemies are defeated, like so many bandits, and my realm settles into a blissful prosperity, I must credit the wise leadership of my liege, Prince Tavard, for inspiration during these dark times. Your determination to reconquer Farise at your own expense gives me encouragement to pursue policies I once feared were too bold. I will, therefore, take guidance from my prince’s illustrious career and consider some sort of concord with Ashakarl, the self-styled Goblin King, with whom Your Highness once entered into a treaty of peace. Should I prove successful, perhaps some part of the animus our foes feel for us will abate.
I cannot thank you enough, Your Highness, for the opportunity to develop my realm here in the Magelaw. Had you not given me the justification for spending three years apart from my beloved Sevendor, I never would have built this rugged land and its likewise rugged people into the finely-honed nation it is becoming. It is a small land, in population, and perhaps the manners of the Wilderfolk are crude, by some standards, but the local iron has provided some small opportunity for them to thrive in their defense of their lands. I have high hopes for their industry. Perhaps someday their craft at metallurgy will add to the glory of the Kingdom of Castalshar as much as it has enflamed the glory of Alshar.
In closing, My Prince, I urge you to be cautious of those within your inner circle in these troubled times. I have received intelligence of infiltrators from the court of Korbal the Necromancer, and I fear his designs. The schemes of the enemy are manifold, and their enmity is manifest. Beware those who seem most loyal to your commands, the most eager to see them executed, and realize that the secrets you entrust to them may not be secure. The deceits of the enemy are many and obscure. Fall not prey to them, as they are designed to doom us all. I have no doubt that you will be able to readily discern their intent, however, as no more insightful duke has ever sat on the throne of roses and swords.
I bid you and your lady wife, for whom the entire Magelaw prays, the sacred grace of Trygg and the beneficence of Luin during these dark times. And to your daughter I wish nothing but the utmost happiness and health. Please extend my greetings and respects to your revered parents, His and Her Royal Majesties; but to your Mother I humbly beg you pass along my especial greetings; I am always thoughtful of her concerns over me and my family, and wish to assure her that I am just as attentive to hers.
Minalan, called the Spellmonger, Count Palatine of the Magelaw, Baron of Sevendor, Chief of the A
rcane Orders, and Marshal of Alshar and Castal
“Your Excellency,” Lawbrother Bryte said, after he read the letter aloud to me, in its final form, “may I assure you, with all due respect and honor, that in my career I’ve never met someone so adept at being a sarcastic asshole as your noble and arcane self?” the monk asked.
“Oh, come now!” I objected. “That letter was dripping with respect! In big steaming piles!”
“Far more than is due for any person you are not actively having a baby with,” the lawbrother agreed. “Indeed, the insults pop from the parchment like daisies in the spring. You all but insult his wife and call his child a bastard,” he observed.
“If you can think of a good insult for his wife, let me know,” I nodded, sagely. “She’s as ignorant as a vapid village maiden. But I can’t tell her that because she wouldn’t understand it. I tried to prepare her for her role as Tavard’s bride and a future queen, once. It didn’t go well.”
“Remerans!” snorted my chancellor. “Still, my lord, I have a duty to point out that sending such an inciting letter may not be in the best interests of you or your realm. Sovereign nobles have a history of taking such correspondence amiss,” he said, airily.
“He should have thought about that before he used my tribute money to fund such a foolish expedition,” I growled. “Really, you’d have to be an idiot not to think of a thousand better uses for that gold. But a good wizard makes a habit of turning fools’ blunders into wise policy. If Tavard has that kind of coin to throw around, the least I can do is make certain that it is thrown in a productive direction,” I argued.
“I’m certain that will completely mollify His Highness,” Bryte snickered. “You seem determined to make him your enemy.”
“More that I’m determined to convince him that I am his enemy,” I corrected. “But you are not wrong. Rard has noble intentions. Grendine has dark intentions but is willing to put them into the service of the Kingdom and her royal husband. Rardine has wit, cleverness and bile,” I observed, “coupled with a predator’s instinct for violence.
“But Tavard?” I proposed. “He has enjoyed a lifetime of expert tutors in every subject and taught the lessons of leadership by example as well as by rote. Yet he’s a half-ignorant, incompetent boob, and everyone knows it. Including him. Maidenpool cinched that,” I insisted.
“He’s ignorant – okay, perhaps only half-ignorant,” Brother Bryte agreed, “but that does not diminish his power. One might ask if it is wise to poke a wounded bear in his uninjured eye,” he said, philosophically. “By sending this letter, you are challenging him in a way he cannot ignore.”
“My very existence challenges Tavard in ways he cannot ignore. Still,” I continued, “I cannot allow him to believe that his venture was even remotely successful. Else he might consider coming against me with even more force, when I don’t happen to need an army of fops around to soak up damage from the forces of darkness.”
“It is not his armies I fear,” Bryte considered. “There are many ways for nobles to make war, and the battlefield is just one of them. The courts,” he listed off, “public opinion, the clergy, trade, taxation, politics, regulation . . . Tavard may be half-ignorant and not terribly bright, but he is surrounded by loyalists who are. Count Anvaram, notwithstanding,” he admitted.
“I’m aware,” I sighed. “But I am hoping that if I humiliate him just enough, he’ll back down and leave me alone. And that, perhaps, in time, he might become more than half-ignorant. I have far more important things to deal with than a vengeful princeling. So, let me add my seal . . .” I said, and I cast a spell that imprinted my seal across the bottom of the page. “Now send it to Wilderhall, if you would. By the Ways, not by Mirror Array. I want this brought to his attention immediately.”
“Well, if you are going to poke a bear in the eye, best to do it swiftly, I suppose,” mused the monk, as he sanded the parchment out of habit and then rolled it and sealed it with wax before he left.
“For once, I agree with a monk,” came a voice from behind me, after a brief flash of light. I turned to see Briga, Goddess of Fire, emerging from her divine flame. “It isn’t wise to agitate your current liege lord and future monarch.”
“Of course it isn’t,” I grumbled. “At least, not on the surface. But I need to contend with this relationship before it gets out of hand. He waged war on me. I don’t respond to that lightly.”
“You all but goaded him into it,” Briga said, tossing her dark red curls over her shoulder. “But he was planning on doing it, anyway. You should expect him to make a move on Sevendor, next, after this.”
“I do,” I agreed. “I’ve asked Sire Cei to come here for a quick meeting before I leave. I’ll prepare him for that. But I think that Tavard’s attention will soon be drawn elsewhere. Like toward Farise. As he is responsible for losing it, his nobles think it’s his responsibility to recapture it. Before the Alshari do. So, to what do I owe this divine visitation?” I asked, politely.
“Checking in, mostly,” she admitted. Then she paused. “I hear you’re seeing another goddess.”
“A couple, actually,” I chuckled. “Falassa and Bova. Bova actually proved useful,” I added.
“I saw,” she said, a little guiltily. “She’s adopted your wife, for some reason. She’s an unusual divinity,” Briga said. I got the feeling that she wasn’t sure if she liked the other Bova, or if she was unsure if she did or not. “I think she appreciated the Great Oxenroast. And I guess we’ll be working together, as patron divinities of the Magelaw.”
“That might be the only beef we get, for a while. All those cows disappeared.”
“They aren’t gone, merely congregating in a secret place,” Briga confided. “One vast herd. Like a forest fire of cattle,” she decided. “But she did end the war rather decisively . . . and unexpectedly.”
“There’s still plenty of evil out there,” I chuckled. “Korbal awaits.”
“Among other dangers,” she nodded, studying me. “But that was most of his reserves who got trampled. There won’t be any large goblin armies invading the kingdom for years, yet. The army and city you have built will keep them at bay, and finally allow the people of this tortured land to restore it to prosperity. You have managed to purchase some time, if not some peace. You will need every moment of it,” she said, cryptically.
“The third Nemovort. Karakush,” I answered.
“He is the smart one, Minalan,” she warned. “Smart enough to undermine his competitor by leaking information to his foe. But do not trust him to be anything other than determined to slay you. He just wants to be the one to do it. And there is more: while his comrades were learning how to fight against you, Karakush has been studying you. Human culture and civilization. Commerce, government, literature, history, magic, that sort of thing.”
“Perhaps he’ll become an admirer of humanity and quit the field out of his great respect for us,” I proposed.
“Minalan, he’s studying you to understand how better to destroy you,” she countered, pouting a little. “He’s been watching how your people react to various situations. It’s clear that the old Alka Alon way to make war doesn’t work as well against you, so he’s adapting. He might be the most dangerous Nemovort you’ve faced, yet. He may even have designs on Korbal’s position at the head of the Enshadowed.”
“I think the Enshadowed need a little civil war in their ranks,” I considered. “Indeed, I would count it a boon.”
She shook her fiery head. “Korbal’s control over his subordinates is absolute. None of them would try to unseat him directly. But his decaying state could tempt them. He has used powerful spells to extend his life in that horrible body, but they have side effects, too. He has to go into a kind of torpor periodically, to allow some of the decaying flesh to regenerate. Especially if he strains himself to use the molopor as he has. It might have bought him time, but it also shows weakness to the ruthless thugs he’s gathered around him. One day someone will think they can ge
t away with it and take a shot at him. Karakush may well be that Nemovort.”
“So how do we defend against him?” I asked. “How do we attack him?”
“It won’t be easy to do either,” she admitted. “When you see an army, you build a castle. When you see an assassin, it’s usually too late. He’s already sent spies here. He will send more. As long as you and the Magolith are here, he will come after you.”
“Well, thankfully, I plan to be on holiday this summer. The expedition to the north. But I’m leaving behind Jannik the Rysh. He’s my new head of counterintelligence, as well as being my court bard.”
“Ah, the Rysh!” she said, fondly. “One of my beloved. His poetry is magnificent – not the doggerel he performs for you lot, but the epics and ballads he’s composed over the years for his own entertainment. Those are works of art! He has a quick wit and clever mind. You will be well-served by him. His family was ever a favorite of mine.” She paused and looked at me carefully. “And I endorse that plan you have to reward him.”
“I . . . I haven’t really spoken about that to anyone,” I said, taken aback.
“I’m a really good guesser,” she snorted, sarcastically. “But you should do it. Before you go north. It will be good for the Magelaw. And for Jannik.”
“All right,” I conceded. “I want to keep the man loyal to me. And he more than deserves it.”
“If you do, he will become your steadfast man,” she nodded. “And your arcanist, Heeth? He’s been performing brilliantly, as you shall see. He’s discovered more about our history than you expect. He will be key to unlocking the secrets of the ancients. Perhaps even rescuing the Forsaken.”
“I hope so, because I’ve done bugger-all to solve that one,” I admitted. “I don’t have enough information, yet.”
“And when you do, Heeth will assist you in putting it together. He has a gift for that sort of thing. As well as putting the right people together,” she continued, pacing a little. “That may be more important than anything. You have built a lodestone out of Vanador. It will attract the greatest creative minds to it. Heeth will arrange them to serve you best.”
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